


Lead Me Into Temptation

by SweetSorcery



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Credence Barebone Heals, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dark - to begin with, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feeding, First Time Blow Jobs, Flirting, Frottage, Getting Together, Healing, Homelessness - briefly, Hurt/Comfort, In a small way, Innocence, Insecurity, Kissing, M/M, Male Slash, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior, Protective Original Percival Graves, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Seduction, Slash, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Snow, Touch-Starved, Winter, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 12:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: When Credence is cast out of the house of God for his "sinful behaviour", he is invited into another house - this one may well be perfect for him.





	Lead Me Into Temptation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purpose_miner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpose_miner/gifts).



> I made every effort to get all your preferred tags into this story, and it was an interesting challenge. :) I'm not great at dark and dubious consent, but I gave them my best shot. I really hope you'll enjoy this. It was certainly fun to write. Thanks for the great request!

Credence had been warned over and over that this would happen, but it had seemed an empty threat. How bad could it be to be cast out all alone into a snowy December night, when what you were used to was living under Mary Lou Barebone's roof? As it turned out - very bad.

After two hours of huddling in doorways and shivering, he was even beginning to miss the thin, lukewarm glop she called soup, not to mention the pitiful source of heat provided by the stove on which he had cooked it every night.

She had sent him out in nothing but his ragged clothes, short jacket and hat, telling him the devil himself could keep him warm, for all she cared.

The devil was the reason he had been cast out. Indirectly. Because to look at another man longingly was a sign he was the devil's disciple. And he had done more than look. He had entertained thoughts so filthy and lustful, they had made him flush to the roots of his hair. He had thought of touches, caresses, words whispered in his ears - it was inconsequential that he was too innocent to even describe those touches or guess what the words would be. He had prayed for them, as he was supposed to pray for salvation and, somehow, his foster mother had guessed at the deviance in his mind.

* ~ * ~ *

The man had been lingering on the edge of the crowds listening to the Second Salemers for days. He had stood there in his expensive clothes, his long dark coat barely moving. His dark, silver-edged hair had been as perfect as his handsome, brooding face. He had watched and listened, but it was clear he hadn't believed a word of Mary Lou's preachings, nor did he have any interest in her warnings.

She had spoken to him directly once, and he had merely sneered disdainfully. Chastity had tried to hand him pamphlets, and he had ignored her. Modesty had tried, and he had shaken his head, 'no'. 

Then Credence had tried, and the man had taken what was offered, while looking into Credence's eyes, letting his fingers brush the palm of Credence's hand as he took the papers, before scrunching them up carelessly and stuffing them into the deep pocket of his fine coat. Then he had given Credence a mysterious smile and left.

Credence had been left flustered from the dismissal and half-hard from the smile, look and touch. He had searched the crowd for the man after that, going out of his way to be the one to offer him the pamphlets, just to feel that maybe accidental, maybe not, brush of fingers again.

The first time he had managed it, the man had clearly been surprised that Credence didn't avoid him, but he had taken the papers, without touching the hand holding them. Credence had bitten his lower lip hard enough for it to hurt. And he was sure his expression must have shown his disappointment, because the man had smirked.

The second time, Credence had handed him the flyer folded double to increase the likelihood of touch, and the man had raised a brow at him and taken it, letting his fingers slide slowly across his palm; there had certainly been nothing accidental about his touch that time.

That night, Credence had barely slept. He had spent most of the night tossing and turning, attempting to will away his body's persistent state of arousal, resisting the urge to touch himself... down there, because that would have been even more sinful than imagining the man's look of amusement, maybe even interest, at reducing him to such evil thoughts.

The third time, earlier that evening in fact, Credence had gone out of his way to give his pamphlets to the stranger, but the man had not taken them. Instead, he had looked deep into his eyes and slid his hand under Credence's, and a little way inside his sleeve. There, he had shifted his grip around the thin wrist and stroked his thumb over Credence's pulse.

And Credence had gasped and stared at him, remaining flyers dropping from his suddenly nerveless fingers.

The man had removed his hand, crouched down, picked them up and handed them back, and then he had turned and left after a half smile at Credence.

Mary Lou had, apparently, been watching the entire thing. She had been livid, using his belt on his hands more vigorously than ever, to _drive out the sinful touches of Satan_.

In her mind, that man was Satan; and maybe he was. Credence didn't know, and couldn't have helped himself, either way.

All he had known at that moment had been pain, and then a strange kind of relief when she had thrown him out with the words, "God has no more use for you in his house. Live in sin with Lucifer, you unnatural horror!"

* ~ * ~ *

He coughed, pulling his legs closer to his body. It was no use, sitting on the ground made him even colder, so he stood up on shaky legs and tried to move around. He briefly contemplated rubbing his arms through his thin jacket, but it would be a terrible idea with his bloodied hands.

He looked up at the night sky. He loved the slow fall of thick snowflakes, as a rule but, at this moment, they only served to make him wetter, colder and more uncomfortable. People walked by at a distance, looking at him with disdain, as if he was some sort of nitwit who had chosen to spend the evening catching his death.

Eventually, someone did approach him but, to Credence's horror, it was a policeman. No doubt he would arrest him for loitering.

"Hey, boy. Just what do you think you're doing, lurking on a street corner?" the policeman barked at him. "I don't want your kind of my beat."

Credence didn't know what kind the man thought he was, and he tried to explain, through teeth chattering from the cold. "I'm sorry, officer, I was just... waiting."

The man snorted. "Yeah, that's what I thought. What's your name?"

"Cre... Credence, sir. Credence Barebone."

The officer sneered. "We don't want prostitutes in this town, boy. I'm going to run you in."

Credence was horrified. "No! I'm not... not a..." He couldn't even say the word. He had only ever heard it spoken by his foster mother with absolute disgust, and knew no more than that it referred to women who were paid for sexual favours, and apparently men too. "I was waiting for--"

"For me," came an unfamiliar voice, and Credence and the policeman both stared at the newcomer.

Credence's heart leapt into his throat. It was him - the devil, or the devil's temptation, who knew which?

"For you? And just who are you?" the policeman asked doubtfully.

The man smiled coldly. "I'm the boy's father. I hope he's not in trouble with the law?"

"His father?"

"Yes. Credence, come here! I'm sorry I'm late, my boy. Work - you know how it is."

Credence only hesitated for a moment before hurrying to his side, his heart pounding so loudly, he was sure the other two would hear it. He squeaked a little when he was pulled close to the man. "It's okay... daddy," he said, thinking that was expected of him, and feeling terrible, because to say it gave him such a strange thrill. The dark eyes looked at him, and there was a flare of heat in them, but it vanished quickly, and a hand was raised and ruffled his hair, sending a warm shiver down his icy back.

"Let's go home, shall we?" The man looked at the policeman. "I assume that's all right, officer?"

"Well." The policeman stroked his chin, assessing them both, then clearly decided they shared enough physical features to let the whole thing go. "All right, but don't let him hang around on street corners, mister. Gives people the wrong idea."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," the man said, looking suitably shocked and annoyed. "Good night, officer."

"Night."

Credence let himself be led away around a few corners, and then he was drawn into a narrow alley between buildings. He heard the man mutter something, very softly, and the air around them began to feel a little warmer, but he had to be imagining that. "Thank you, sir, for getting me out of trouble," he managed to say, thinking he should express his gratitude before he was told what a nuisance he was.

The man looked at him. Looked at him for a long moment, his eyes moving over his face as if cataloging every detail. When the examination was finished, he said slowly, "It's no wonder he thought you were looking for business. You really are criminally beautiful, aren't you?"

Credence stared, flushing bright red, despite his chill. "Me? No, I--"

"My name is Percival Graves," the man said, then smirked, "although you may keep calling me daddy, if you like."

Credence flushed even redder, if it was possible. "I'm sorry, sir, I thought I should play along. I didn't want to be arrested."

"Hmm." The dark brows drew together. "Good idea. So, Credence, what are you doing out and about, freezing to death? Not handing out any of those frightening papers at this time of night, are you?"

Credence shook his head. "I won't be doing that anymore, sir."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it."

Credence avoided direct eye contact. "My ma threw me out."

There was silence for a moment.

"What? Into this weather?" Credence looked up at the anger in the man's voice. "What could you possibly have done to deserve that?"

Credence shifted from one foot to the other, shivering. "I... I was acting wantonly, and ma... ma knew I was having sinful thoughts." Now he really couldn't meet the brown eyes.

"You, acting wantonly?" Mr Graves snorted in disbelief. "Forgive me, but I've seen you a few times now, and I don't think I've ever encountered anyone shyer and more reticent than you."

Credence looked confused. "But you must know, Mr Graves! After all, you--"

"I what?"

"N... nothing. Sorry, sir." Credence lowered his eyes. He hadn't meant to sound accusatory; he knew well that the whole thing was his own fault.

"Why would I know, Credence? Are you telling me I'm in some way responsible for your plight?"

Credence couldn't tell whether Mr Graves was annoyed, worried or amused. He said, very hesitantly, "I was behaving wantonly with you, sir."

"Oh, you were?" Graves looked baffled when Credence met his eyes. "I think I'd have noticed that." He looked over Credence's face, lingered on his eyes, and his mouth, and sighed. "I would definitely have noticed."

"But I did," Credence said miserably. "I made you touch me. My hands, I mean."

Graves sighed. "Credence, no one has ever made me do anything I didn't want to do. As for the touching... that was just a little flirtation, wasn't it? I can't imagine anyone else would have even noticed."

"Ma did." Everything Mr Graves had just said sank in then. "You were... flirting with me?"

Graves gave him a slow smile. "Of course I was. I told you, you're exceptionally beautiful. And I'm not blind." The smile suddenly dropped off his face entirely. "That's it? Sweet Merlin, the crazy woman threw you ought because we _touched hands_?" As if to prove the harmlessness of such a thing, he grasped Credence's hands then, and let go of them at once when Credence gave a pained cry, tears shooting into his eyes.

"Credence, what--" This time, Graves didn't dare touch the palms, but picked up Credence's forearms, holding them up where the nearest streetlight could throw just enough light on the boy's palms to show the state they were in. He cursed viciously. "She did this to you before throwing you out too?"

Credence, suppressing sobs with great difficulty, nodded. His palms were on fire.

"Don't be alarmed. I'm going to deal with this for you, okay?" Mr Graves asked.

"Okay." Credence was breathing hard. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to heal you," Mr Graves said. He gave Credence a reassuring smile and released one of his arms, letting his right hand hover just above the hand he still held, palm up.

Credence watched, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as the bloodied skin closed up, the blood vanished, and his palm became smooth and perfectly intact. The pain vanished along with the blood. He eagerly held up the other hand, not hesitating for a moment, and Mr Graves did the same thing there.

"Mr Graves, thank you." Credence gulped. "How did you do that? Are you... are you the devil, like ma said?"

Mr Graves smiled ruefully. "I doubt the devil goes about trying to fix what he's broken." He looked genuinely sorry when he said, "Credence, I had no idea anything like this would happen to you. I was only trying to let you know how lovely you are. I'm an idiot for not considering the kind of zealot your mother is. And I'm very sorry. I shouldn't even have been there, taking those flyers. I was trying to find out how much your mother actually knew about magic. I kept coming back only because of you."

"Oh." Credence's voice was soft and frightened. "Oh God, you... you're a witch."

Mr Graves tilted his head, plucked a black wooden stick - it had to be a wand, Credence thought - from his coat sleeve, and held it up. "I'm afraid so."

Suddenly, it was all too much for Credence. He was hungry, thirsty, cold, scared, confused... and his vision began to swim, a moment before he slumped, caught well before he could fall, into a pair of strong arms.

* ~ * ~ *

When Credence came to, he was surrounded by soft orange light, and the ground was soft too. It wasn't cold, so it couldn't be snow. In fact, he felt warm all over. He sat up slowly, and a woollen blanket fell down his torso to crumple in his lap. It covered his legs too.

He looked around and found himself in a beautiful room, with plush furniture and ornaments and soft light sources, and there was a large fireplace roaring a few feet in front of him.

Large windows looked out at the night sky, and snow was still falling - in thick, leisurely flakes - lit by the lights of the city below. He must be in an apartment very high up.

His jacket was gone, and so was his hat. He wriggled his toes - his shoes and socks had gone too; no great loss, as both were worn and had holes. His feet had been blocks of ice. Somewhat more disconcerting was the fact that his trousers were gone too, though as they'd been quite wet from the snow, maybe it was just as well.

"Back with me, I see."

Credence jumped a little, and looked to his right to see the man, Mr Graves, walking towards him, bearing a tray with steaming cups and a plate of sandwiches.

"Mr Graves!" Credence suddenly felt his stomach drop. He remembered. Mr Graves was a witch. He had a wand. He could do untold damage to him with that wand.

"That's a good sign, anyway. You remember me." Mr Graves smiled at him in a way that made Credence's skin burn.

"Is this your place?" he asked fearfully.

"It is." Mr Graves sat down on the edge of the sofa on which Credence had been placed, his lower back touching Credence's right leg, because his feet had been placed on the armrest before being wrapped inside the blanket. "Have some food, and hot lemon tea. You look like you could use both."

Credence stared at him.

"I'm not going to fatten you up and eat you. That would take months," Mr Graves joked, then said more seriously, "You look terrified."

"You might put a spell on me," Credence said weakly. Mr Graves didn't look or sound as if he meant him any harm, but could he trust a witch?

Mr Graves laughed. It was a pleasantly deep, rumbling laugh, which rolled over Credence just like the warmth of the fireplace. "Sweet boy, I think you've beaten me to the spell-casting."

"I don't understand." Credence knew his voice was wavering, unbalanced as he was by the endearment; it was the first he'd heard in his life.

Mr Graves' smile at him was soft now, indulgent. "I know you don't. That makes it worse." He motioned to the tray with his chin. "Now, have something to eat and drink. You'll feel better in no time, and then we can work out what to do with you."

"Thank you, sir." Credence reached for the nearest sandwich - turkey, cheese, tomato, lettuce and even boiled egg, with some kind of relish - and bit into the thick slab of it. It was divine, and had more substance than the amount of food he was used to getting in an entire day.

He couldn't imagine anything being done with him except to throw him back out into the street, where he would probably perish eventually. While he could, he would take advantage of Mr Graves' hospitality.

The man was watching him closely, sipping from one of the cups as he did so. When Credence reached for the other cup, Graves' hand covered his fingers on the handle. "It's very hot, be careful."

Credence nodded, closing his eyes and pursing his lips to blow gently across the steaming, lemon-scented brew. The hand had not been taken back yet, and there was a soft moan. Credence, sure it had come from him, opened his eyes in fear, and found Mr Graves looking at him with intense focus. The warm brown eyes had darkened, and were more pupil than iris.

"I'm going to tell you something," Mr Graves said, voice rough. "I don't want you to worry, or to be scared. I won't hurt you, okay?" Credence nodded. "Good. Now, when I touched your hand that first time, I felt something, a little trickle of magic. When I came back, I was so distracted by your face, and so worried I'd merely imagined it, I didn't dare touch you again. When you forced my hand, so to speak, and I touched you again, I was quite sure what I'd felt was really there." He looked a little sheepish then. "I'm afraid after that, I've been wandering around near that church of yours at all manner of strange times in hopes of catching you alone. I guess it's just as well I did tonight."

"Mr Graves?" Credence was getting worried. "Is there something wrong with me? Other than..." He averted his eyes.

"Credence, there's nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all." Mr Graves took a deep breath. "Well, there's really only one way to tell you this: you're a wizard."

When Credence stared in utter confusion, Mr Graves sighed. "A male witch is a wizard. That's what I am and, as it happens, it's also what you are."

"But... I can't be, Mr Graves. There must be some mistake. My foster mother never would have--" He stopped, remembering years of maltreatment, and accusations of being the offspring of an 'unnatural' woman, of being sick and disgusting.

"I think she knew, or at least sensed it in all her ignorance. It's as much the reason she's thrown you out as, well, that other issue."

Credence met Mr Graves' eyes. His hand holding the cup was shaking, and he set it down on the coffee table, with Mr Graves' help, next to the tray.

"Mr Graves, is that why I'm... like this? Because I'm a wizard?"

"Like what, Credence?"

"Sinful. Depraved." Credence gulped. "Is that why I lust after men? One man, anyway... why I dream of you touching--"

Mr Graves groaned softly, rubbing the space between his heavy brows. "Better stop there," he said.

"Please, I need to know."

"It has nothing to do with your being a wizard, Credence, but unlike the people you're used to, magical folk won't condemn you for it. There are many like us." Mr Graves sounded detached, as if he was giving a lecture, and he wouldn't look directly at Credence.

"Are you angry at me, Mr Graves? I'm sorry, if I've done something wrong, or said something wrong. I'm so confused." Credence tried to struggle out of the blanket, but it had been tucked too tightly around his feet in order to keep him warm. He merely rolled ineffectually around on the sofa, and eventually fell back to land with his head on a thick cushion. He sobbed. "I should go. Please, let me go."

Mr Graves looked at him then, and his eyes would have been as effective at keeping Credence pinned in place as the blanket. "You don't want to do that," he said softly. He reached around Credence's legs, tucking the blanket in again where he'd dislodged it, warmly and securely around his bare feet and legs. Then he slowly moved along the sofa, and Credence's stretched out form, until he was sitting next to his hip.

"Mr Graves," Credence whimpered, tears glistening in his eyes.

"You don't really want to go, do you?" Mr Graves repeated, leaning down, both hands on Credence's shoulders, pressing him into the cushion.

Credence shook his head. "I don't think so?" He was still hesitant.

"No, I don't think so either." Mr Graves leaned even closer, his head tilted a little, brows drawing together as his eyes focused on Credence's lips. "Besides, I wouldn't let you go."

And he pressed his mouth to Credence's, stilling the surprised sound the boy made with the gentle pressure of lips on lips, his hands tightening on the narrow shoulders, then slowly sliding inwards towards Credence's neck, where the long, smooth fingers continued up the sides, thumbs just grazing the bobbing Adam's apple until they reached the chin.

When the gentle pressure of Mr Graves' thumbs drew down his chin, Credence's lips parted, and Mr Graves' tongue slipped into his mouth, gliding over his own, then around it, exploring every corner, every tooth, every soft and wet surface.

Credence could only hope Mr Graves was breathing into his mouth, because he forgot how, or why it was necessary. His whole body felt as if it was being caressed by that exploring tongue, and when its tip nudged the tip of his, repeatedly, he groaned. He was hard, so hard, down there, and he only hoped Mr Graves wouldn't notice.

The kiss ended, eventually, with the tongue tip nudging his top lip from underneath as it withdrew, and he was left open-mouthed and panting, eyes huge and glistening.

"Have I fully convinced you that you don't want to leave?" Mr Graves asked, his voice sounding husky.

Credence tried to speak, several times, before he finally managed to gasp, "Yes." He raised his left hand, touching Mr Graves' cheek as if to make sure he was real. It was taken by the wrist, and that wonderful mouth kissed the healed palm.

Mr Graves met his eyes, still holding Credence's hand, brushing his cheek across the knuckles, as he said, "Stay with me, Credence. I'll never send you away or abandon you. I'll never hurt you. I'll teach you about magic, and I'll make sure you have everything you'll ever need."

"Everything?" Credence whispered. When Mr Graves nodded, he asked softly, "More kisses like that?"

Laughing, Mr Graves said, "I can practically guarantee that."

"And more?" Credence wished his mouth would stop talking. He was being outrageous, shameful, the worst kind of sinner. But had he not already been cast out of God's house? For whom, and to whom, should he be good, if not Mr Graves?

"More, yes." Mr Graves placed Credence's hand on the boy's stomach, and stroked back his hair. "Anything you want, you need only tell me."

Credence swallowed hard, his eyes lowering.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

Emboldened by the words, and admiration, in Mr Graves' eyes, Credence took the man's right hand and moved it down his stomach, and lower.

"I see," Mr Graves said and, when Credence's bravado failed and he released his hand, he continued on himself, until he could cup the hard arc of the boy's arousal, through the blanket and a thin layer of linen, under his palm.

Credence gasped. "Please."

"Tell me what you want me to do," Mr Graves said.

"I don't know. I just need..."

Deciding the boy probably simply didn't have the words for what he wanted or needed, Mr Graves took pity. "Why don't I start by doing this?"

Credence watched, breathing hard when Mr Graves pushed down the blanket, then moved Credence's shirt up a little.

"How soft your skin is," Mr Graves said, tracing fingertips over the now revealed stretch of bare stomach. "I think I'm going to kiss you... there."

Credence watched, heartbeat reverberating in his ears, skin tingling, as Mr Graves pushed his shirt even higher, and leaned down to press his mouth to his navel. He circled it with kisses, before fluttering more of them all over his belly, and down, not stopping where dark curls vanished into his underwear. He continued kissing, fingers hooking behind fabric and sliding it down over the narrow hips as he moved on, until his mouth landed on the inside of a slender but shapely thigh.

"Mr Graves!" Credence almost shouted, unable to bear the way the man ignored the most obvious obstacle in the way of his kisses.

There was a soft chuckle against the warm skin, and then fingers wrapped around the base of the hard shaft.

Credence groaned, head falling back, eyes closing. He didn't think he could look down, but when the hand around him tightened, stroking up and down slowly, slippery now with who knew what - magic, he assumed - he had to look, he just had to.

Mr Graves looked deep in concentration, watching the way Credence's cock slid in and out of his fist, head tilting and eyes assessing, as if to decide the best way to achieve Credence's submission.

And Credence was happy to submit, shuddering when Mr Graves leaned in and kissed his tip, then took him in his mouth as he looked up and met his eyes. The slow smile around him nearly undid Credence completely, and he narrowly avoided biting through his tongue.

Apparently, Mr Graves didn't want him to hold back, because he sucked harder, his tongue somehow finding ways to make the whole thing feel even better, and then he shifted a little so he could slide a hand between Credence's legs. When a single finger, wet and slick with the same substance now coating his shaft, nudged at his hole, then actually breached him, Credence lost the fight.

Mr Graves hummed around him as he swallowed every spurt, and there must have been so much. Credence was trembling with it, it was all so new and overpowering. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologise, but all that came out was a whimper.

Mr Graves released him gently, licked his lips, and smiled at him. "Feel more relaxed now?"

"Oh, yes." Credence blushed. "Thank you."

Laughing, Mr Graves said, "The pleasure was all mine. Well, in a manner of speaking." He looked down at himself a little ruefully, then moved to draw Credence's underwear back into place.

"Please, don't." Credence wasn't sure what he was going to say, until he said it. "Isn't there anything I can do for you?"

A slow smile played around Mr Graves' mouth. "Oh, sweetheart, there are so many things." His voice was deep and enticing.

"Then may I do them, please?"

Looking astonished, Mr Graves said, "I think you've had quite a day today, and you're not going anywhere. Right?"

Credence nodded his agreement. "I want to stay, if that's really what you want, Mr Graves."

"I really do, Credence," Mr Graves assured him, looking at the trusting eyes, the pink lips, the smooth skin, the utter submissiveness of the boy. "I want you more with every passing minute," he said roughly.

"Not just because you feel responsible for me being out on the street?"

"No. Not just because of that, although I do." Mr Graves gently caressed a sharp hipbone, feeling the faintest tremor go through the slender body. "You are so enchanting, Credence. And so responsive. I've never known anyone like you. The way you react to my touch... it's as if you've waited for it all your life."

"I think maybe I have," Credence said.

Mr Graves met his eyes, and then he moved forward again, kissing him once more. His taste, this time, was slightly bitter, his tongue sticky, and Credence realised it was because he had found his release inside the man's mouth. The thought made him groan into the warm cavity, and his hands clutched at Mr Graves' sides.

"Credence," Mr Graves breathed between his lips.

"Please," Credence gasped. "Let me do something for you."

"Okay, sweetheart." Mr Graves shifted so he lay on top of him, pressing him into the cushion and the sofa, one leg between Credence's thighs, his hardness unmistakable against the juncture of Credence's hip and right thigh. "I'm very, very close." He pressed forward and up, his cock, behind layers of clothing, nudging Credence's still exposed one - which was hardening again already.

"Mr Graves, that feels so..." Credence had no words. The idea that he had made the man like that - so hard, so desperately thrusting against him - was overwhelming. "Please, I want to--" Deciding that to explain might take too long, he fingered awkwardly with the smooth closure of the man's trousers.

Mr Graves, realising what he was doing, helped, lifting his hips and freeing himself from the confinement of fabric. And then he undulated against Credence, who returned the pressure, and they were skin to skin, the friction eased by a spell.

"Is this... sodomy, Mr Graves?" Credence gasped innocently.

Graves groaned, his face nuzzling into the crook of Credence's neck. "No, for that I would have to be..." He moaned, pressing down hard to still Credence's counter moves for a moment. "I would have to be inside you."

"Inside?" Credence was momentarily confused, then remembered that brief moment of Mr Graves' finger venturing into his hole, and he understood. "Oh. Oh, God." His voice was little more than a series of desperate little breaths formed around letters.

"Yeah." Graves bit down lightly on the long neck, hands under Credence's back, and when the boy gave a full body shudder, he gasped, "Soon. We'll do that soon. I can't wait to make you mine completely, sweet boy."

Credence's next whimper nudged Mr Graves over the edge, and he spilled himself between them, coating Credence's groin, cock and belly, and the boy was only moments behind, trembling through only the second orgasm of his life.

They lay still for a little while, stuck together until Mr Graves spelled them clean, and then he reached for the blanket and drew it over them both.

Credence soaked up the man's closeness and warmth, and thought of all the things Mr Graves would be able to teach him - in lessons which would be kinder, gentler, more pleasurable, and less cruel than God's lessons had ever been.

Perhaps, he had found a new religion; the thought did not feel blasphemous at all.

The End


End file.
